A Study in Flatmates
by teaholic
Summary: Set around the time of A Study in Pink. Sherlock contemplates the army doctor he has just offered a flat share. John considers the strange man he has just agreed to live with.
1. John

**Author Note: Finally caught up with the beginning of the series! I'm not going to try to rewrite the original meeting of the characters, as I would like the stories to remain as close the canon as possible, and I'm likely to mess it up anyway. I do recommend rewatching A Study in Pink (but I'd do that anyway). This is sort of a recap and thought process of the the characters meeting each other. First up, Sherlock's thoughts on John. John's thoughts on Sherlock to follow, and maybe Mycroft's thoughts on all this too.**

 **As always, reviews and suggestions are always appreciated. Enjoy :)**

 **John Watson**

"Who would want me as a flatmate?" He had only offhandedly mentioned the question to Mike Stamford that morning, yet Mike returned with a possible answer just after lunch - John Watson. Recently invalided home from military service in Afghanistan, an army doctor. John had seemed surprised at the deductions that he had spewed off regarding his background and recent history, but not scared off. He hardly seemed to notice the mention of violin playing and not talking for days.

John wanted a place to live in the city and, whether he knew it or not, thrived in the dangerous situations he frequently found himself in. He needed someone with medical knowledge to assist on cases, and more importantly, someone who could put up with him, and help keep Mycroft out of his business. He had the lodgings, and if the army doctor wasn't scared off by the investigation of a serial killer or a pretend(ish) drugs bust, and was compelled to potentially have saved his life by shooting previously mentioned serial killer all within a day of meeting him, then surely he could manage daily life with a difficult and eccentric flatmate.

Mycroft would not be happy.

The thought brought a smile to his face.

No, practical, logical, Mycroft wouldn't be pleased. He would see it as a hastily made decision, which admittedly it was. He had only known the man thirty seconds when he offered the flatshare. Mike Stamford seemed to think he was up for it though, and judging by the recently solved case, he stood a decent chance.

John Watson.

Soldier. Doctor. Flatmate of Sherlock Holmes.

He handled the crime scene well, had prior medical knowledge, wasn't too tied down with family or a romantic partner. Loyal. Protective. And he could even laugh about it afterward.

Yes, this might just work.

Undoubtedly Mycroft was already at work running background checks and digging up personal details, making sure the Army doctor was someone he deemed "acceptable" for his brother. It would be a kind thought it weren't so damn obtrusive. Sherlock found himself almost hoping John had some terrible secret Mycroft would hate. He'd have to keep him around then.

So far he was good as making tea, useful at crime scenes, and socially adept enough to know not to pry into his personal life. His only downfall was the blogging.

Why do people blog anyway?

Yes, he had a website, but he'd been bored and setting it up had meant one more day he wasn't on drugs trying to keep himself occupied. It also served a purpose - a contact point for prospective clients.

John H. Watson's Blog had no such redeeming qualities. He relayed the facts of their cases in a fanciful, romanticized way, inflicting opinions on the world that really didn't matter.

Somehow his therapist thought this would help him though. Why was he even still seeing her? Obviously she'd been wrong about his PTSD, and the blog didn't seem to change anything.

He, on the other hand, had cured John's psychosomatic limp and proven he missed more than feared the dangers of war within the evening.

Ordinary people - so dull.

Except John Watson. He might just prove to be something extraordinary.


	2. Sherlock

**Sherlock Holmes**

"Who would want me as a flatmate?" John returned at Stamford's mention of a flatshare to afford staying in London. Coincidentally, the other man also knew another person in need of flatmate, but who might be a bit difficult to live with.

The name was Sherlock Holmes, and he knew everything about me in a single glance. He knew about the military service, determined my limp to be psychosomatic (and cured it!), and realized I was in need of lodgings without uttering a single word. He deduced my troubled relationship with Harry, that I was seeing a therapist, and where my phone came from as if it were printed across my forehead. He knew I was a doctor, and within a day was dragging me along to crime scenes he worked for the police on. Admittedly, he got the brother/sister thing mixed up, but missing 'Harry' being short for 'Harriet' was understandable. He was amazing.

He was also mad, John thought, certifiably insane. He could go from a foul mood to positively giddy in moments. Likewise, the excitement of a completed case might last him days; other times he couldn't stand the flat by the same afternoon. Time and schedules seemed to be completely meaningless to him. He had no schedule for anything - not even for eating or sleeping. Sherlock would stay up late researching and experimenting, and still be gone chasing some lead before sunrise. Other times he languished on the sofa unmoving for hours, or days.

There was still a lot that he didn't know about the mysterious Holmes. How did he even get into such a line of work? Where did his money come from since he apparently wasn't paid by the police? What was the "childish feud" his older brother referred to?

As time went on, he wondered what the true reasoning behind the flatshare even was. Wherever it came from, Sherlock had money. He even appeared to have been living at 221B Baker Street some time before John moved in. He was capable of taking care of himself, although he rarely seemed inclined to, but Mrs. Hudson did much more in the way of housekeeping than she'd admit to.

He'd think Sherlock was lonely, but he had made it fairly clear he wasn't looking for a relationship. He knew plenty of people, even if he didn't seem particularly close to them. Lestrade admitted to knowing him longer, but not really knowing much about him. Mrs. Hudson seemed the closest, but she was grateful for Sherlock ensuring her husband's execution. Not sure he wanted to look into that one too much.

John wasn't really sure how he, trust issues and all that his therapist pointed out, came to trust Sherlock Holmes. He wasn't even always sure that he should. But Sherlock provided an excitement and mystery that his life had been lacking recently. He was hoping to find an affordable place to live in the city. What he got was a nice flat in the heart of London, a cure to his limp, and an invigorating new view on life. He could hardly complain if it came with an eccentric flatmate.


End file.
